Citation
The story of Rip Van Winkle

Material Information

Title:
The story of Rip Van Winkle
Series Title:
Robinson Crusoe series
Added title page title:
Rip Van Winkle
Creator:
Webster, George P.
Irving, Washington, 1783-1859
McLoughlin Bros., inc ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
New York
Publisher:
McLoughlin Bro's
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
[16] p. : col. ill. ; 28 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Van Winkle, Rip (Fictitious character) -- Juvenile poetry ( lcsh )
Laziness -- Juvenile poetry ( lcsh )
Drinking of alcoholic beverages -- Juvenile poetry ( lcsh )
Scolds -- Juvenile poetry ( lcsh )
Bowling -- Juvenile poetry ( lcsh )
Dreams -- Juvenile poetry ( lcsh )
Magic -- Juvenile poetry ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Picture books for children ( lcsh )
Juvenile poetry -- Catskill Mountains (N.Y.) ( lcsh )
Juvenile literature -- 1896 ( rbgenr )
Fairy tales -- 1896 ( rbgenr )
Poems -- 1896 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1896
Genre:
Children's literature ( fast )
Fairy tales ( rbgenr )
Poems ( rbgenr )
Color printing (Printing) ( rbpri )
Pictorial bindings (Binding). ( rbbin )
Publishers' paper bindings (Binding) ( local )
chromolithographs ( aat )
Publishers' catalogues ( rbgenr )
poetry ( marcgt )
Color printing (Printing) ( rbpri )
Pictorial bindings (Binding) ( rbbin )
Publishers' paper bindings (Binding) ( rbbin )
Chromolithographs ( gmgpc )
Publishers' copies (Provenance) ( rbprov )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
In verse.
General Note:
Title, imprint statement, and series transcribed from upper cover. Series transposed from between title and imprint statement on cover.
General Note:
"Rip Van Winkle. By George P. Webster."--p. [2].
General Note:
"Copyright 1896 by McLoughlin Bros., New York."--upper cover.
General Note:
Full-page illustrations chromolithographed.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
027416124 ( ALEPH )
ALK9730 ( NOTIS )
82995596 ( OCLC )

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This item has the following downloads:


Full Text


er MclouGytin. BRos,

SERIES

NEWYORK.



ey





NEW YORK.





RIP VAN WINKLE.

By GEORGE P. WEBSTER.



NEAR to the town, in a cottage small,
Lived Rie Van Winxktz, known to all

Asa harmless, drinking, shiftless lout,



Who never would work, but roamed about,
Always ready with jest and song—
Idling, tippling, all day long.
“Shame on you, Rip!” cried the scolding

Vows ; :
And old men muttered and knit their brows
â„¢ Not so with the boys, for they would shout,
And follow their hero, Rip, about,

Early or late—it was all the same,
They gave him a place in every game.

At ball he was ready to throw or catch;
At marbles, too, he was quite their match;
And many an urchin’s face grew bright,
When Rip took hold of his twine and kite.
And so he frittered the time away—
‘Good natured enough,” they all would say ;
But the village parson heaved a sigh
As Rip, in his cups, went reeling by,
With a silly smirk and a drunken leer—
His good dog Schneider always near.



The Baldwin Library
| M ... J Uaves



(BP WAN WEEN KLE:



Rip was fond of his rod and line
And many a time, when the day was fine,

He would wander out to some neighbring stream,

And there, with his dog, would sit and dream ;
Hour after hour, would he dozing wait,
And woe to the fish that touched his bait.
But the stream of his life ran sometimes rough,
And his good “ Vrow” gave him many a cuff,
For she was never a_ gentle
dame,
And Rip was a toper, and much

¢

to blame.

But little did Rip Van Winkle
care

For his wife or his home—he
was seldom there —

But tried in his cups his cares
to drown;

His scolding wife, with her
threat ning frown,

At his cottage door he was sure



“0 SCC
“Ah! this,” said Rip, “is no place for me.”
So down to the tavern to drink his rum,
And waste his time with some red-nosed chum,
He was sure to go; for he knew that there
He would find a glass and a vacant chair,
And jolly fellows, who liked his fun,
And the tales he told of his dog and gun.





RIP AND THE CHILDREN.













REP VAAN VV ENV Ke Ee,

But his was still but a sorry life,

For, sot as he was, he loved his wife;

But he would tipple both day and night,
And she would scold him with all her might.
Thus Rip Van Winkle had many a grief,

And up ‘mongst the mountains sought relief.
For lowering clouds or a burning sun
He cared but little; his dog and gun
Were his friends, he knew; while they were near
He roamed the forests, and felt no fear,
If tired at last, and a seat he took,
And his dog came up with a hungry look,
He had always a crust or bone to spare,
And Schneider was certain to get his share.
And then if a squirrel chanced to stray
In range of his gun, he would blaze away,
And he held it too with a steady aim—
Rip never was known to miss his game.
But over his ills he would sometimes brood
And scale the peaks in a gloomy mood;
And once he had climbed to a dizzy
height,
When the sun went down, and
: the shades of night
Came up from the vale, and the
\ pine-trees tall,
i) And the old gray rocks, and the

waterfall



RAP. VAN WENA E










Grew dusky and dim, and faded away,

Till night, like a pall, on the mountain lay.

Full many a mile he had strayed that day,

And up in the mountains had lost his way ;

And there he must stay through the gloomy
night,

And shiver and wait for the morning
light.

He thought of the stories, strange
and old, >

Which the graybeards down in 3?
the village told;

“ And what,” said he, “if the tale

were true

i AWG, “4M
Moen




I have heard so oft of a phantom crew,

Who up in the Catskills, all night long,
Frolic and revel with wine and song.”

Just then a voice from a neighbring hill
Cried “Rip Van Winkle!” and all was still.
Then he looked above and he looked below,
And saw not a thing but a lonely crow.
‘Ho, Rip Van Winkle!” the voice still cried,
And Schneider skulked to his master’s side.
Just then from a thicket a man came out—
His legs were short and his body stout, | :
He looked like a Dutchman in days of yore,
With buttons behind and buttons before;
And held a keg with an iron grip,
_And beckon d for help at the gazing Rip.



a \
Gece Ai iim i

"heaps, &





REP Vv AN IVE NIGE Be

Rip had his fears, but at last complied,

And bore the keg up the mountain side;

And now and then, when a thunder-peal

Made the mountain tremble, Rip would steal

A look at his guide, but a never a word

From the lips of the queer old man was heard.

Up, up they clambered, until at last,

The stranger halted. Rup quickly cast

A glance around, and as strange a crew

As ever a mortal man did view

Were playing at nine-pins; at every ball

“Twas fun to see how the pins would fall;

And they rolled and rolled, without speaking a word, -

And this was the thunder Rip had heard.

Their hats looked odd, each with sugar-loaf crown,

And their eyes were small and their beards hung down,

While their high-heeled shoes all had peaked
toes,

And their legs were covered with blood-red
hose;

Their noses were long, like a porker’s snout,
And they nodded and winked as they

moved about.

Log | They tapped the keg, and the liquor

ea, flowed,

weg And up to the brim of each flagon

glowed; »

And a queer old man made a sign to

Rip,





Rel Pee AN NWVaLEN KS

As much as to say, “ Will you take a nip?”
Nor did he linger or stop to think,

For Rip was thirsty and wanted a drink.
“T’ll risk it,” thought he; “it can be no sin,
And it smells like the best of Holland gin;”
So he tipped his cup to a grim old chap,
And drained it; then, for a quiet nap,

He stretched himself on the mossy ground,
And soon was wrapped in a sleep profound.
At last he woke; ‘twas a sunny morn,



And the strange old man of the glen was gone;
He saw the young birds flutter and hop,
And an eagle wheeled round the mountain-top ,
Then he rubbed his eyes for another sight—
« Surely,” said he, “I have slept all night.”
He thought of the flagon and nine-pin game;
“Oh! what shall I say to my fiery dame!”
He, faintly faltered; “I know that she
Has a fearful lecture in store for me.’
He took up his gun, and strange to say,
The wood had rotted and worn away :
He raised to his feet and his joints were sore;
Said he, “I must go to my home once more.’
Then, with trembling step, he wandered down ;
Amazed, he entered his native town.
The people looked with a wondering stare,
For Rip, alas! was a stranger there;
He tottered up to his cottage door,

But his wife was dead, and could scold no more.





THE KEG IS TAPPED AND THE LIQUOR FLOWS.



oo
fa]
a
=
~
=I
wo
o
Zz
oO
=]
2
Ly
=
oO
o
fu
n
eal
x
<
3
<
&
iv









RIP VAN WENK EE:



And down at the tavern he
sought in vain

For the chums he would never
meet again.

He met a youth, and at him
he gazed

With a wondering look, and a

mind amazed,
For his own true image he

seemed to be
As he lazily lolled against a
tree;

Nor did he dream ’twas_ his
darling son

He had only known as his little one.

He looked, as he passed, at a group of girls,
For the laughing eye and the flaxen curls

Of the child he had loved as he
loved his life, :
But she was a thrifty farmer's
wife; oe

And when they met, and her hand
he took,

She blushed and gave him a puz-
zled look;

But she knew her father and kissed
his brow,

All covered with
wrinkles now;

marks and





inl Ee VeASNE WW Nei ise



For Rip Van Winkle was old and
gray,
And twenty summers had _ passed
i away—
Yes, twenty winters of snow and frost
Had he in his mountain slumber lost;
Yet his Jove for stories was still the
same,
And he often told of the nine -pin
game,
And he mused, and mumbled, and
gossiped, too,
Of his mountaiti; nap and of Hudson's crew;
The drink of gin he could not forget,



For the taste on his palate lingered yet,

But the age was getting a little fast;

The Revolution had come and passed,

And Young America, gathered about,

Received his tales with many a doubt.

Awhile he hobbled about the town;

Then worn and weary, at last lay down,

For his locks were white and his limbs were sore—
And Rie Van Winyxte will wake no more.









Full Text


er MclouGytin. BRos,

SERIES

NEWYORK.



ey





NEW YORK.


RIP VAN WINKLE.

By GEORGE P. WEBSTER.



NEAR to the town, in a cottage small,
Lived Rie Van Winxktz, known to all

Asa harmless, drinking, shiftless lout,



Who never would work, but roamed about,
Always ready with jest and song—
Idling, tippling, all day long.
“Shame on you, Rip!” cried the scolding

Vows ; :
And old men muttered and knit their brows
â„¢ Not so with the boys, for they would shout,
And follow their hero, Rip, about,

Early or late—it was all the same,
They gave him a place in every game.

At ball he was ready to throw or catch;
At marbles, too, he was quite their match;
And many an urchin’s face grew bright,
When Rip took hold of his twine and kite.
And so he frittered the time away—
‘Good natured enough,” they all would say ;
But the village parson heaved a sigh
As Rip, in his cups, went reeling by,
With a silly smirk and a drunken leer—
His good dog Schneider always near.



The Baldwin Library
| M ... J Uaves
(BP WAN WEEN KLE:



Rip was fond of his rod and line
And many a time, when the day was fine,

He would wander out to some neighbring stream,

And there, with his dog, would sit and dream ;
Hour after hour, would he dozing wait,
And woe to the fish that touched his bait.
But the stream of his life ran sometimes rough,
And his good “ Vrow” gave him many a cuff,
For she was never a_ gentle
dame,
And Rip was a toper, and much

¢

to blame.

But little did Rip Van Winkle
care

For his wife or his home—he
was seldom there —

But tried in his cups his cares
to drown;

His scolding wife, with her
threat ning frown,

At his cottage door he was sure



“0 SCC
“Ah! this,” said Rip, “is no place for me.”
So down to the tavern to drink his rum,
And waste his time with some red-nosed chum,
He was sure to go; for he knew that there
He would find a glass and a vacant chair,
And jolly fellows, who liked his fun,
And the tales he told of his dog and gun.


RIP AND THE CHILDREN.







REP VAAN VV ENV Ke Ee,

But his was still but a sorry life,

For, sot as he was, he loved his wife;

But he would tipple both day and night,
And she would scold him with all her might.
Thus Rip Van Winkle had many a grief,

And up ‘mongst the mountains sought relief.
For lowering clouds or a burning sun
He cared but little; his dog and gun
Were his friends, he knew; while they were near
He roamed the forests, and felt no fear,
If tired at last, and a seat he took,
And his dog came up with a hungry look,
He had always a crust or bone to spare,
And Schneider was certain to get his share.
And then if a squirrel chanced to stray
In range of his gun, he would blaze away,
And he held it too with a steady aim—
Rip never was known to miss his game.
But over his ills he would sometimes brood
And scale the peaks in a gloomy mood;
And once he had climbed to a dizzy
height,
When the sun went down, and
: the shades of night
Came up from the vale, and the
\ pine-trees tall,
i) And the old gray rocks, and the

waterfall
RAP. VAN WENA E










Grew dusky and dim, and faded away,

Till night, like a pall, on the mountain lay.

Full many a mile he had strayed that day,

And up in the mountains had lost his way ;

And there he must stay through the gloomy
night,

And shiver and wait for the morning
light.

He thought of the stories, strange
and old, >

Which the graybeards down in 3?
the village told;

“ And what,” said he, “if the tale

were true

i AWG, “4M
Moen




I have heard so oft of a phantom crew,

Who up in the Catskills, all night long,
Frolic and revel with wine and song.”

Just then a voice from a neighbring hill
Cried “Rip Van Winkle!” and all was still.
Then he looked above and he looked below,
And saw not a thing but a lonely crow.
‘Ho, Rip Van Winkle!” the voice still cried,
And Schneider skulked to his master’s side.
Just then from a thicket a man came out—
His legs were short and his body stout, | :
He looked like a Dutchman in days of yore,
With buttons behind and buttons before;
And held a keg with an iron grip,
_And beckon d for help at the gazing Rip.
a \
Gece Ai iim i

"heaps, &


REP Vv AN IVE NIGE Be

Rip had his fears, but at last complied,

And bore the keg up the mountain side;

And now and then, when a thunder-peal

Made the mountain tremble, Rip would steal

A look at his guide, but a never a word

From the lips of the queer old man was heard.

Up, up they clambered, until at last,

The stranger halted. Rup quickly cast

A glance around, and as strange a crew

As ever a mortal man did view

Were playing at nine-pins; at every ball

“Twas fun to see how the pins would fall;

And they rolled and rolled, without speaking a word, -

And this was the thunder Rip had heard.

Their hats looked odd, each with sugar-loaf crown,

And their eyes were small and their beards hung down,

While their high-heeled shoes all had peaked
toes,

And their legs were covered with blood-red
hose;

Their noses were long, like a porker’s snout,
And they nodded and winked as they

moved about.

Log | They tapped the keg, and the liquor

ea, flowed,

weg And up to the brim of each flagon

glowed; »

And a queer old man made a sign to

Rip,


Rel Pee AN NWVaLEN KS

As much as to say, “ Will you take a nip?”
Nor did he linger or stop to think,

For Rip was thirsty and wanted a drink.
“T’ll risk it,” thought he; “it can be no sin,
And it smells like the best of Holland gin;”
So he tipped his cup to a grim old chap,
And drained it; then, for a quiet nap,

He stretched himself on the mossy ground,
And soon was wrapped in a sleep profound.
At last he woke; ‘twas a sunny morn,



And the strange old man of the glen was gone;
He saw the young birds flutter and hop,
And an eagle wheeled round the mountain-top ,
Then he rubbed his eyes for another sight—
« Surely,” said he, “I have slept all night.”
He thought of the flagon and nine-pin game;
“Oh! what shall I say to my fiery dame!”
He, faintly faltered; “I know that she
Has a fearful lecture in store for me.’
He took up his gun, and strange to say,
The wood had rotted and worn away :
He raised to his feet and his joints were sore;
Said he, “I must go to my home once more.’
Then, with trembling step, he wandered down ;
Amazed, he entered his native town.
The people looked with a wondering stare,
For Rip, alas! was a stranger there;
He tottered up to his cottage door,

But his wife was dead, and could scold no more.


THE KEG IS TAPPED AND THE LIQUOR FLOWS.
oo
fa]
a
=
~
=I
wo
o
Zz
oO
=]
2
Ly
=
oO
o
fu
n
eal
x
<
3
<
&
iv






RIP VAN WENK EE:



And down at the tavern he
sought in vain

For the chums he would never
meet again.

He met a youth, and at him
he gazed

With a wondering look, and a

mind amazed,
For his own true image he

seemed to be
As he lazily lolled against a
tree;

Nor did he dream ’twas_ his
darling son

He had only known as his little one.

He looked, as he passed, at a group of girls,
For the laughing eye and the flaxen curls

Of the child he had loved as he
loved his life, :
But she was a thrifty farmer's
wife; oe

And when they met, and her hand
he took,

She blushed and gave him a puz-
zled look;

But she knew her father and kissed
his brow,

All covered with
wrinkles now;

marks and


inl Ee VeASNE WW Nei ise



For Rip Van Winkle was old and
gray,
And twenty summers had _ passed
i away—
Yes, twenty winters of snow and frost
Had he in his mountain slumber lost;
Yet his Jove for stories was still the
same,
And he often told of the nine -pin
game,
And he mused, and mumbled, and
gossiped, too,
Of his mountaiti; nap and of Hudson's crew;
The drink of gin he could not forget,



For the taste on his palate lingered yet,

But the age was getting a little fast;

The Revolution had come and passed,

And Young America, gathered about,

Received his tales with many a doubt.

Awhile he hobbled about the town;

Then worn and weary, at last lay down,

For his locks were white and his limbs were sore—
And Rie Van Winyxte will wake no more.